For weeks now, the rumblings have been distant and low, but each day, they grow closer: echoes of a distant dread. Through the subterranean tunnels, it comes, the Balrog – ambition withers in its path, dreams splinter and snap. Deep into the city where the willful urban twixter po’ folk dwell, with their no benefits, their clothes from six years ago, their hopeful new iphones. It comes even for them, the Nothing, wiping out all in its path. Even those small, powerless grubs who have elected to find a little-noticed crevice on a larger creature, and hunker down there, making no noise, causing little harm, silently sucking…they, too, will be dragged forth, out into the glaring light of day, and counted. The fire of this crisis leaves no pore unscoured – even the armpits and nostrils of the corporate beasts will be flushed clean.
It comes. Closer and closer, it comes. It sucks up years, it grays youth, it brings forth the sweat from even the most habitually sedated brow…
It comes. It comes. It comes for you. RUN!!!!
Accismus 
I don’t feel that worried. That may be because I have no money invested in the market. Or it may be that as I grew up in the 90’s
I don’t understand how self-aware people can display so much unabashed worry for anything. Shouldn’t everyone just be sarcastically declaring how much they don’t care rather then panicking?
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Ah, touche. Am I to assume, then, that you’re cool with sarcastically paying for my share of household expenses, should my financial situation deteriorate further?
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Hey, also – the actor you were trying to think of was Tilda Swinton!
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This is the punishing fire we need! It will teach us to honor God and wear modest clothes and eschew zippers!
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